I wrote this text a while ago while commuting home from work one day, and I would LOVE to see what all of you superstar editors, vide people, and photographers can do with this. :) This text flowed out of me while I was observing and living my life, commuting, and I realized that although I was getting rather bored and tired of the long trip, it could be a time to feel raw emotion, etc. I would love to see what you call can do to bring ths to the next level, visually.
-Q
I AM THE COMMUTER :
Cold, and tired from a long day of work, I make my way into the familiar purple and silverish train; I am Salem bound, and not a moment too soon. I am one of the first people to board, so I am able to find a comfortable seat, and I am hoping that no one squeezes into the way-to-small seat next to me. No such luck! It's all good though, everyone has to sit, right? I take a glance across to the seats in front of me after a very loud noise gets my attention. A man sat down next to a very quiet woman, let out a sound of disgust that I have never heard before (it caught the other woman's attention as well), and loudly exclaimed, "I almost had a heart attack!" The lady siting next to him quickly took off her headphones, put down her paper, and asked if he was alright. He proceeded to tell her that he was fine, but he was just annoyed about being packed like a sardine on the Green Line train. (I sympathize, and concur with his complaints, because I take that line too; it stinks!) The frustrated man, and the friendly lady exchange a few more pleasantries, then turn away from one another to start the process of unwinding before getting home. The man takes a gulp of water, a smile comes across his face, and I can tell he is himself again.
I am seated next to a man who is what I call "A respectful commuter," and he is busy writing out Valentine Cards. I am nestled in my seat, trying to keep warm (I forgot my scarf this morning), and listening to Billy Joel and Phil Collins on my MP3 player. I skip around from song to song. The first tune of choice being Two Hearts, by Phil Collins. Next, just to make Valentines Day even more somber for a single gal, I skip to the love song by Mr. Collins, Against All Odds. I take a glance over at the man next to me who is writing out the Valentine cards, and after he writes the obligatory note inside the card, I see that the card is for his Daughter (a young child by the looks at the front picture on the card). The front says, "To a very special Daughter," and there is a cute fuzzy animal pictured on the front dressed in red. My chest starts to burn, and I have to fight off tears; I miss my Father. My Father and I are estranged. I quickly pull myself together, out some happier music on, and we continue on our way. The man next to me then fills out another card, I can't tell who it is for, but it is a funny one.
"Lynn Central Square!"
The conductor announces the next stop, and the man next to me is now gone. I turn my attention to the two people in front of me again, and the frustrated man now has a small grin permanently plastered on his face. The woman next to him is still reading and listening to something that appears to be something like a language CD; she has a single piece of paper in her hand, and as she listens to whatever is in her ears, she puts the paper down and mouths something to herself. My stop is coming up, and as I look at the two people seated in front of me, I notice how different people can be. The man is clearly the type that strikes up conversations with EVERYONE he comes in contact with (very gregarious), and the woman, although very nice, is the type that wants to be alone with her thoughts when commuting home. I am a bit of both. Most of the time I use my commuting time to listen to music because it is really the only time I have to enjoy such activities.
"Swampscott!"
The stop right before Salem is now yelled out, and the once frustrated man exits the train. The woman seated next to him skips exchanging goodbyes, or even a smile. I get myself together as my stop is next. I turn off my MP3 player, wind up the cord to my headphones, and put on my gloves. There is seven minutes left until my stop. Not exactly a typical commute home, but none-the-less, this is the account of my commute home today.
written by quincey g Feb/2006
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-Q
I AM THE COMMUTER :
Cold, and tired from a long day of work, I make my way into the familiar purple and silverish train; I am Salem bound, and not a moment too soon. I am one of the first people to board, so I am able to find a comfortable seat, and I am hoping that no one squeezes into the way-to-small seat next to me. No such luck! It's all good though, everyone has to sit, right? I take a glance across to the seats in front of me after a very loud noise gets my attention. A man sat down next to a very quiet woman, let out a sound of disgust that I have never heard before (it caught the other woman's attention as well), and loudly exclaimed, "I almost had a heart attack!" The lady siting next to him quickly took off her headphones, put down her paper, and asked if he was alright. He proceeded to tell her that he was fine, but he was just annoyed about being packed like a sardine on the Green Line train. (I sympathize, and concur with his complaints, because I take that line too; it stinks!) The frustrated man, and the friendly lady exchange a few more pleasantries, then turn away from one another to start the process of unwinding before getting home. The man takes a gulp of water, a smile comes across his face, and I can tell he is himself again.
I am seated next to a man who is what I call "A respectful commuter," and he is busy writing out Valentine Cards. I am nestled in my seat, trying to keep warm (I forgot my scarf this morning), and listening to Billy Joel and Phil Collins on my MP3 player. I skip around from song to song. The first tune of choice being Two Hearts, by Phil Collins. Next, just to make Valentines Day even more somber for a single gal, I skip to the love song by Mr. Collins, Against All Odds. I take a glance over at the man next to me who is writing out the Valentine cards, and after he writes the obligatory note inside the card, I see that the card is for his Daughter (a young child by the looks at the front picture on the card). The front says, "To a very special Daughter," and there is a cute fuzzy animal pictured on the front dressed in red. My chest starts to burn, and I have to fight off tears; I miss my Father. My Father and I are estranged. I quickly pull myself together, out some happier music on, and we continue on our way. The man next to me then fills out another card, I can't tell who it is for, but it is a funny one.
"Lynn Central Square!"
The conductor announces the next stop, and the man next to me is now gone. I turn my attention to the two people in front of me again, and the frustrated man now has a small grin permanently plastered on his face. The woman next to him is still reading and listening to something that appears to be something like a language CD; she has a single piece of paper in her hand, and as she listens to whatever is in her ears, she puts the paper down and mouths something to herself. My stop is coming up, and as I look at the two people seated in front of me, I notice how different people can be. The man is clearly the type that strikes up conversations with EVERYONE he comes in contact with (very gregarious), and the woman, although very nice, is the type that wants to be alone with her thoughts when commuting home. I am a bit of both. Most of the time I use my commuting time to listen to music because it is really the only time I have to enjoy such activities.
"Swampscott!"
The stop right before Salem is now yelled out, and the once frustrated man exits the train. The woman seated next to him skips exchanging goodbyes, or even a smile. I get myself together as my stop is next. I turn off my MP3 player, wind up the cord to my headphones, and put on my gloves. There is seven minutes left until my stop. Not exactly a typical commute home, but none-the-less, this is the account of my commute home today.
written by quincey g Feb/2006
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